The Secret of My Success
by Ann
Summary: Another Christmas story I wrote ages ago but never posted here.


Disclaimer: Scarecrow and Mrs. King is copyrighted to Warner Brothers and Shoot the Moon Production Company. The story, however, is copyrighted to the author. This story is for entertainment purposes only and cannot be redistributed, reproduced, archived, reposted, or forwarded without the  
permission of the author.

Title: The Secret of My Success  
Author: Ann (geisterschloss )  
Date written : December 2002

Summary: A retrospective of past Christmas's  
Feedback: Sure!

Author's Note: Huge thanks to Pam for the conversation which inspired this story idea and to Merel and Jobsies for convincing me the idea wasn't totally insane. Another round of merci-  
beaucoups to Pam, Mary, Fling and Miriam for a last second beta job. I never would have made my deadline without you guys!

The Secret of My Success

When I look back, I can't help but wonder if I should have seen it coming. If I had done this or that differently, could I have prevented it? Eventually though, I always reach the same conclusion. Even with the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight, there was probably nothing that I could have done to change the final outcome.

It's human nature to assume that when you're on top of your game in any profession, it's going to last forever. I'd been the highest-ranking performer in my division for eight years straight and had no reason to believe the situation was about to change. Looking back, I can see that there were a few warning signs,  
small events that didn't seem consequential at the time but which proved to be portents of the impending disaster.

The first tiny blip that might have altered my internal radar occurred in December of 1983. I was having lunch in a Georgetown pub with my best client, cheerfully writing up what was proving to be his largest order yet.

But I'm getting ahead of my story. Let me go back and fill in a few of the gaps. My name is Simon Bracknell, and I'm a traveling scarf salesman. I'm sure some of you are rolling your eyes. True, it's not exactly the most distinguished of professions. But in my family, it's a line of work with a long and  
prestigious history. My father had been a scarf salesman, his father before him and his father before him. There's an old family legend about an ancestor of ours who tried to convince the Pilgrims that scarves would be the perfect accessory for those hats and buckled boots.

Anyway, as I said, by 1983 I'd been the top salesman in the entire Northeast/Mid-Atlantic District for several years. That's no small feat if you know anything about the cut-throat world (no pun intended) of commercial scarf sales. From time to time, some of my colleagues would inquire how I was managing to  
rack up those impressive totals year after year. I'd just smile and say something about how I didn't want to give away my trade secrets.

In truth I had just one secret: Lee Stetson, my best client. No matter how bad sales were through the months of October and November, I would stick it out, knowing that when my route took me to Washington D.C. in December, all would be well. I would phone up Lee a few days prior to my arrival, and we'd arrange to meet at some watering hole or even at his apartment on occasion. We'd have a few drinks, maybe dinner. Then I'd take out my catalogue and an order form, Lee would consult a  
list of names he'd drawn up, and we'd get to work.

This routine continued unchanged for a number of years – both of us content with the arrangement. But in 1983, as I said, a small incident occurred. Lee was scanning down his list of names, I was scribbling in his order form, when he stopped for a moment. He frowned, added a name to the bottom of the list,  
crossed it out, added it back in, and then crossed it out one last time.

I think this incident stuck in my memory because it was unlike Lee to be so indecisive. Usually he was totally unconcerned with the specifics of his order. He never seemed to worry about the expense or which friend received which scarf. As long as I had them gift-wrapped and shipped on time, he was satisfied.

"Anything the matter?" I inquired politely, my pen poised over his order form.

He shrugged and gave a small laugh. "No, it's okay. Just an insane idea I had for a moment. Someone who would read way too much into my giving her a present."

I nodded, and we continued to complete his order.

The next year went fairly smoothly, again with one small exception. After we got to the end of his list of names, Lee unexpectedly asked to see the catalogue of my company's scarves. He quickly flipped through it and selected a light blue scarf. My surprise must have shown on my face, because he  
laughed when he handed me back the booklet. With a shrug, he said, "I just wanted to be sure this person gets something a little special."

That should have prepared me for 1985. This time we were meeting at Lee's apartment. I usually enjoyed this arrangement since Lee stocked some of the best whisky I've ever had the pleasure of imbibing. On this visit however, I could have used a whole bottle. Lee insisted on seeing not only the complete  
catalogue, but also meticulously inspecting my wool and silk samples. It took him almost an hour to pick out one scarf.

"Are you sure?" I asked, wearily picking up an order form.

He frowned for a moment, then finally nodded. Getting up, he walked over to the bar to refill our glasses. "You're sure, this scarf is the best you have?" he asked. "Maybe I should switch to the one with the fringe."

I sighed and set down the form for the tenth time. "It's a beautiful scarf made of our very finest cashmere. I'm certain your friend will love it. Maybe we could move on to your second gift?"

To my astonishment, the rest of his order was the usual off-the-cuff list of required gifts and I was out the door after only another twenty minutes. As I stood in the hall waiting for the elevator, I shook my head and leaned against the wall. Something was definitely going on.

The following year things really started to unravel (never a good sign in my business). As usual I called Lee in mid-November to set up an appointment. Due to his busy schedule we were unable to arrange a meeting until the week before Christmas. Lee was already seated at the bar by the time I  
arrived. I placed my drink order and began to open my briefcase when Lee stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"Um, Simon," he said nervously. "There's been a slight change in plans."

I didn't like the sound of that. "I don't understand."

He cleared his throat. "The thing is, I already did most of my Christmas shopping. I'm only going to need a few scarves to finish things off."

I bolted upright, nearly falling off my barstool. "You . . . you . . . you bought scarves from someone else?" I asked in amazement. "Was it Bunbury? That bastard had better not be moving in on my territory."

Lee held up a hand. "No, no, nothing like that. I was just out with a friend the other day and we were Christmas shopping . . ."

I cut him off. "You went shopping," I said slowly.

He looked a bit sheepish and shrugged again. "Believe me, it wasn't my idea. It just sort of happened. And I'll still need some scarves from you," he hastily reassured me. "The ones I bought at the department store aren't going to be enough."

Luckily the bartender placed my drink in front of me at that moment. I drank it at one gulp, then turned to face Lee. "You bought scarves at a department store?" I asked in amazement. "Lee, our product is infinitely superior to what you'll find there. You know that. I don't understand this at all."

He half smiled, and said, "I'm not sure I totally understand it myself."

It was with no small amount of trepidation that I phoned Lee in November of 1987. Given the events of the past few years, I was prepared for the worst. As it turned out, my fears were well founded. Lee said that this year, he'd decided to go a different route. I listened politely as he rambled on about "special things for special people", then ended our conversation as quickly as possible.

I still don't quite comprehend what happened. I mean, who doesn't want to give scarves as Christmas gifts? Everyone needs a scarf. Everyone likes a scarf. One size fits all. And, what's more, they even come already wrapped. I just don't understand.

The End.


End file.
